First thing I see when I walk in the market is strawberries and blueberries, on sale. My mind slows down enough to squeeze in the thought of some fresh fruit on top of a mountain of vanilla ice cream, maybe a little granola to top it off. I grab the packages of strawberries, two of course, because they are two for five dollars, and put a container of blueberries on top.
I’m going to need some ice cream and granola to go with the fruit and potatoes, better get a basket. I manipulate the stuff in my hands so I can lift one of them from the stack and start filling it up. The basket sticks, my cat-like reflexes are slowed by the overload in my brain and the blueberries tumble onto the floor, rolling all over the place.
A quick look left, then right confirms what I thought, it’s an unwitnessed spill. My instinct tells me move on, leave the mess for somebody else to clean up- too busy, too much to do, time is ticking…
My conscious slows things down, and before I know it, I’m on my hands and knees picking blueberries from the supermarket floor. I barely notice people passing, they are none of my concern as they dodge the little blue blobs and move on, lost in their own overwhelming thoughts.
Two little hands appear in my peripheral vision, and they are picking blueberries with me. I glance over, it’s a stranger, a girl, maybe twelve or thirteen focused on the task at hand.
“Do you want them back in the container?” she asks.
“That’s really nice of you, thank you,” I reply, and reach toward her with the half full blueberry container. Another girl joins her friend, and I’m completely lost in the moment, picking blueberries with two gracious kids, their hands busy picking up the mess I created, filling my pint container, making sure every one was accounted for.
When we’re done, they get up, give me a smile and walk out the door.
A few hours later I sat contentedly eating the best fresh picked blueberries I’d ever had, each one better than the one before it. I ate them slowly, savoring each and every instant.